summer at a friend's

Here we are again. Time for holidays around. Drinking a cup of tea on the balcony at Greta's. We spent together a few days of our August.

At the beach talking about useless topics and admiring the texture of the side table's peg. Staring the pebbles makes you feel more grey inside, till the night starts to rise. We just smell the scent of some spaghetti and clums someone is eating now and it seems to hear the toast too, two flutes of champagne. But we made a mistake: there are no glasses, just a bottle dug in the drench sand. And the sun goes down.

Drinking beer at a seaside icecream bar. After a dinner made of meat and veggies we put on a random dress and a pair of wedges: that's all about it, in the summer. Ride your bike, also with wedges it will be fine. Go out, in all your forces, hanging around during a summer night; this is the right time to do it, tomorrow you will be old. And you think about colours once more, noticing your increasing white hair reflected in a window.

Candle light. Yellow light, dark wood. Pale wine. Dressing gown that we'd better call t-shirt. Smudged lipstick belonging to who speaks too much, end of a night.

I forget lots of snaps that will never come again. It's night on the deckchairs near the see. We notice a strange sail in the middle of the dark, looking like an ancient painting. But it is actually the moon. It grows and rises from the see and when it is high in the dark it's time to stop talking and go home.